


One More Shot

by magickmoons



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actor Dean Winchester, Alcohol as a Coping Mechanism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Coming Out, Drug Abuse, Heartbreak, Hopeful Ending, Infidelity, M/M, Past Bela Talbot/Dean Winchester, Past Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester, Professor Castiel, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, Starting Over, breaking up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 05:45:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15430278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magickmoons/pseuds/magickmoons
Summary: Sometimes second chances come in the strangest of ways.About 15 years ago, Dean made some very bad decisions. With time and effort, he'd moved past them to a successful acting career, until someone brings up a name he'd never thought he would hear again: Castiel Novak.





	One More Shot

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a quick tumblr flashfic of the press conference... and then it just kept writing itself really. *shrug* It was 6 installments on tumblr, and is being posted in its entirety here. Not promising anything, but it's possible that I may return to these boys and do maybe another installment as part of a series... (after I finish [Unknown Number](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7677037/chapters/17486131))
> 
> Note: While Alastair is not involved in the present events of this fic, he was very involved in Dean's past -- with all the attendant mind games and crap that comes with that.
> 
> Title is from the Kane song _One More Shot_.
> 
> * * *

Dozens of overlapping voices shouted at Dean, each one asking a variation on the same question. Camera flashes left stark afterimages in his vision against the oncoming dusk, but he just kept quiet, smiling affably and waiting until the horde of reporters calmed down enough to let him answer. He may have been caught unaware by Charlie's phone call at 3AM letting him know that someone had leaked old pictures of Benny and him and that the internet was already on full alert, he may have spent the day in closed door strategy meetings with the studio and distributors for his coming film that had him gritting his teeth as his private life was discussed in terms of profit margins and marketability, he may have spent two miserable hours being coached on how to present his 'new' self to the media, but he'd be damned if he let the vultures set the pace here.

Finally, they realized he wasn't going to give them anything if they kept at it, and the noise level died to a dull roar. Looking over the choices, he nodded at Becky Rosen. Annoyingly peppy and somewhat bizarrely obsessed with Sam, she still was usually in Dean's corner and could be counted on to lean toward the underdog in any given story.

"Are you gay, Dean?" she asked, pen poised over her notepad.

He chuckled easily (no need to give away that he'd been visualizing this exact moment for most of the day, planning the best way to play it). "Oh, is that why we're all here? I thought I'd won something."

Eyerolls, shrugs, grins, a couple of laughs. Not bad. Behind the crowd of reporters, he could see Sam and Charlie, all supportive smiles and thumbs up. He took a deep breath. That was all he needed. He'd made himself a promise after that first disastrous year in Hollywood -- he'd walk away from it all in a heartbeat if it meant betraying himself or losing Sammy's respect again. Somehow, Charlie had wormed her way into that equation as well. He smiled at them.

"I'm not gay." The shouting started again and he held his hands up. As soon as the volume dropped a couple decibels, he continued. "I'm bisexual."

There was a smattering of cheers, some groans; he could swear he saw money being exchanged.

"What was the bet?" he asked. "That I was straight, or that I was gay?"

"Yes!"

"Well, you were all wrong. Next question."

"Are you and Benny Lafitte having an affair?"

His laugh was genuine for that one. "Have any of you actually looked at the picture? I mean, I know I've aged well, but that was from ten years ago." Too many of them looked disgruntled at not being able to write about Benny cheating on Andrea. They probably would anyway; Dean had to literally bite his tongue to not bark at them. "Next?"

"Why were you hiding your sexuality? Are you ashamed?"

"Nope. Just like my privacy. Don't tend to put anyone I date front and center for you guys."

"Who's Castiel Novak?"

Dean froze, automatically pulling up his media smile. He could not have possibly heard what he thought he'd just heard. He cleared his throat, trying to loosen the sudden weight in his chest. "I'm not going to answer that right now."

"When will you talk about him, Dean?"

"Wasn't he your first love?"

"Who dumped who?"

The questions came loud and fast. He blinked at the sudden uptick of camera flash. "I'm not ... " This was wrong. The questions were supposed to be about him, or him and Benny, not about ... He couldn't make out the questions anymore, everything coalesced into whirling white noise inside his head. Then Charlie was standing next to him, surreptitiously squeezing his hand as she graced the reporters with a big, open, slightly regretful smile.

"Sorry, folks, but we've got to get Dean moving along. Keep an eye on his Twitter and Facebook over the next few days for more info. In the meantime, I'm sure you all have enough to run with." 

Sam's hand closed around Dean's arm, tugging gently. With one last plastic smile, Dean let himself be led back into the hotel lobby, as Charlie struggled to be heard over the crowd. "Just try to be respectful of everyone involved, okay?"

She joined Dean and Sam just as the elevator doors opened and they stepped in, away from the hotel staff pointedly not watching. Dean leaned against the back wall and let his head fall back with a thunk. Charlie exchanged a look with Sam.

"Well, that could have gone better," she said.

"You think?" Dean growled. "How the fuck did they find out about Cas, Charlie?"

"Dean, it's not her fault."

"This isn't  _ 1984 _ , Dean. I can't just make something not have happened because you say so."

"Yeah, I get that. But the story broke less than 24 hours ago. How did they dig that up? It was ... years ago."

"I don't know, Dean. Someone talked to someone who knew you two, they went back to Lawrence, they found an old yearbook. If someone's looking, the trail's a mile wide. Honestly, I'm actually kinda surprised it hasn't happened before now."

The doors opened and they headed down the hall to Dean's suite. Charlie and Sam winced when Dean headed straight to the minibar. He settled on the couch with three small bottles of liquor and was draining the first one by the time Sam sat down next to him.

"But, speaking of Cas ... "

"We're not."

"Dean," Charlie perched on the arm of the couch. "Maybe you're not, but  _ they _ are. They know his name, it won't take long to figure out where he lives if they haven't already. They'll be asking him questions, and ...."

"Let him say whatever he wants."

"He could say some pretty damning stuff, Dean."

"Nothin' that's not true," Dean muttered. "I deserve whatever he throws at me." He tossed the empty bottle and started on the next one.

"Okay, but still, maybe you should give him a heads up that he's about to be national news?" Charlie offered quietly.

"Call 'im if you want." Dean pushed up from the couch and headed to his bedroom, detouring to grab as many bottles from the bar as he could carry. "And get this restocked, would you?"

"Nope."

He tried to glare at Sam, but couldn't. The kid was only looking out for him. He'd lived through the fallout of the whole Cas debacle in real time. Dean sighed. "All right, Sammy. But just, just give me tonight okay?"

"You made a mistake, Dean. You were a kid."

"I was 19, Sam. And it was a whole mess of mistakes. And Cas was the one who got hurt." The memory of stunned blue eyes, the brief moment of confusion before realization and hurt set in, where time was suspended just long enough for Dean to wish desperately that he could go back and relive those months away from Cas, be a better man. But he couldn't and he wasn't.

Sam eyed the bottles in Dean's hands. "I think both of you got plenty hurt."

"Yeah, whatever, Dr. Phil." Dean closed the bedroom door firmly behind him. He lined the bottles up on the nightstand, threw himself onto the bed, and proceeded to try to forget.

* * *

 

Cas entered the lecture hall with his eyes glued to the journal article opened precariously on top of his stack of class materials. He wore the title of absent-minded professor proudly, and students and faculty who frequented the building generally knew to give him a wide berth. He was a few steps into the room before he realized that something felt different. Placing his papers carefully on the desk, he looked up to find nearly every seat filled. Not that he didn't find his subject fascinating, but even if everyone registered for this section showed up, they still wouldn't fill more than half the hall.

He blinked at the expectant faces and thought about asking what was going on, but then decided it was probably some bizarre campus game he wouldn't understand -- like that zombie war last spring.

So instead, he launched immediately into his lecture. He paced as he spoke, watching his audience. It was easy enough to differentiate who was there for the material vs. those who had just shown up, although a fair amount of his students seemed unusually distracted as well.

As he came to the end of his planned remarks, he leaned against the edge of his desk.

"Any questions?"

Dozens of hands shot up eagerly.  _ Okay, something really weird is going on today. _

"Do you really know Dean Winchester?"

Castiel tried to ignore the crushing feeling in his chest that still appeared when someone mentioned that name -- even after all these years.

"I ... yes, I did; but I meant questions about the material."

All the hands went down.

_What the hell? Why is this coming up now?_ _Has something happened to Dean?_

"What's he like?" someone called out from the rear of the hall, when no one asked on topic.

"It was a long time ago," he said stiffly. Too long, or not long enough, Cas was never sure. "I'm sure anything I could tell you would no longer be relevant." 

_ "You've changed, Dean." _

_ "You bet your ass I changed. I'm finally free. And you're the same small town kid with a stick up your ass." _

Cas swallowed roughly. "Perhaps it's best to end here today."

A chorus of groans met his pronouncement.

"For those of you actually in this class, please read the next two chapters in your text by our next meeting. Office hours as normal this week -- only for course-related discussions." He kept his eyes fixed on his hands as he stacked up his notes and fled the room chased by the memory of sparkling green eyes and a beautiful smile turned cold and mocking.

Back in the quiet, controlled chaos that was his office, he ran through some breathing exercises to calm himself. No meditation he'd ever tried had managed to completely erase the memories of Dean -- the good or the bad -- but he'd found that it was helpful when he felt overwhelmed.

Somewhat calmer, he decided to be responsible and check his email before allowing himself to do an internet search on Dean. It had taken a long time before he'd finally managed to stop googling Dean's name every day; he wasn't going to change that now. Even if something had happened, it couldn't have any possible impact on him. Their lives had been separate for nearly 15 years.

As he read email, the phone rang. He answered absently.

"This is Bela Talbot with  _ Celebrity Inquiries _ . I have some questions for Dr. Castiel Novak."

With half his attention still on his email, he suddenly realized that he'd only caught about a couple words of what his caller had said.

"I'm sorry. What is your inquiry?"

A suggestively feminine laugh answered him. "About Dean Winchester, Dr. Novak. I understand you two were involved."

Dean again. "I'm afraid I can't give you any useful information. I haven't spoken with Dean for years."

"Oh, that's fine. This is background for a story. For instance, was Dean faithful to you?"

Cas froze.  _ How did she know?  _ "What? I ... "  _ What did she know?  _ Abandoning his email, he quickly pulled up a browser window and typed Dean's name into the search bar.

"I mean," she continued as if musing to herself, "an affair with a married man doesn't look very good. I'm trying to get a feel for Dean's character."

"Dean wouldn't ... I mean, that is... " Cas trailed off, unable to finish his thought. Certainly the Dean had gone to high school with, fallen in love with would never have engaged in an adulterous relationship -- especially not after seeing how his father's affair had impacted two families -- but then he'd moved to California to pursue his acting dream. Cas had limited experience with CaliforniaDean, and what little he did have did nothing to suggest that Dean put the same emphasis on fidelity that he once had.

"Hmmm," Bela purred. "Sounds like you might have some useful information after all. I can fly out there tonight and meet with you first thing tomorrow morning."

"What? No, I --" He stared at the search results on the screen. Most were articles about Dean's apparently recent public admission of his bisexuality, but several implied, or outright stated, that Dean was having an affair with Benny Lafitte.

"It's no problem, Dr. Novak. Of course, you would be compensated for your time. And then you can tell me all about what Dean did to you that has you so spun about."

_ Fuck. Oh fuck. She said she was a reporter, didn't she?  _

"I would like this to be off the record." That was something he didn't think he'd ever say in his life.

"Certainly, Dr. Novak. Everything from this point on is off the record."

His heart sank. "No, I ... "

"Thank you for your time."

He put the phone down and clicked into one of the articles alleging that Benny Lafitte was cheating on his wife. He scanned it quickly. There was lots of crap about how everyone knew that the happily married image Benny presented was faked, how he'd been too wild in his youth to have truly settled down. A couple of screens down was a photo of Dean and Benny at a pool: Dean was leaning back against Benny's chest as they lounged on a small couch, and he had tilted his head back to meet Benny's lips in a gentle kiss.

Cas chuckled sadly when he realized that the timing of the photo was all wrong for the article's premise. One look at Dean's face told him that it had been taken only a year or two after  _ that night _ \-- well before the article indicated that Benny had met his wife. He stared at the photo; Dean looked so calm and content and  _ healthy _ , so different from the last time they had met. Obviously, he had cleaned up his act by the time this photo had been taken. Cas had always suspected that Dean hadn't continued down that path of self-destruction -- he'd never heard any reports of arrests or other troubles -- but it was good to see that he had found some measure of peace, even if it made Cas's heart ache that he had not been the one to provide it. 

"So, is this just another crazy campus rumor, or did you really date  _ the _ Dean Winchester and just never saw fit to mention it to your bestest bud."

Cas jumped when Gabriel's voice cut through his musings. He looked up to see his friend leaning against the door jamb, eyebrows raised.

"It was a long time ago." Cas started shutting down his computer. "And it ended ... badly. I prefer not to think about it."

The phone rang, and Castiel stared at it apprehensively. It rang again.

"Aren't you going to answer it?"

"I'm afraid it will be that Bela woman again." He pushed the button to send his calls to voicemail and the ringing stopped. With a frown, he sorted through his notebooks, trying to remember what he had wanted to take home for the night.

"Bela who?"

"Um ... Talbot, I think she said. A reporter of some sort."

Gabriel slid off the wall to stand up straight. "Wait a minute. Bela Talbot called you? About the Winchester thing?" Gabriel shook his head, chuckling. "And you have no idea who she is, do you?"

Cas zipped up his bag. "No, I don't. Just that she wanted to talk about Dean. And Me. Dean and me."

"I bet. She is the queen of salacious gossip columns. She will dig up and air anyone's dirty laundry provided the money's right. And you talked to her?"

"I did, but I can't remember if I said anything ... 'salacious.'" An unsettled feeling came over him as he listened to Gabriel's description of the reporter.

"Well, we'll find out soon enough." Gabriel pulled out phone, quickly pulling up an article. He scrolled through and sighed.

"Yep. Updated just a few minutes ago." He mumbled through the first couple of paragraphs -- just clear enough that Cas knew she was taking the approach that Benny was cheating on his wife with Dean -- before speaking clearly.

_ Castiel Novak was particularly cagey when speaking of his ill-fated relationship with the movie star. This reporter wonders whether the Winchester camp has paid him off to stay quiet. _

"See there, Cassie?" Gabriel easily fell into stride with Cas as he walked through the building. "Doesn't matter if you said anything or not."

"But that's ... " Cas sputtered. "How can she write that?"

"Well, if you'd occasionally read something other than musty old bibles, you'd realize this is how the world works now."

As they exited the building, several reporters approached, much to Castiel's surprise and Gabriel's quickly fading amusement.

"Just keep your mouth shut for now," he whispered to Cas before snapping "No comment," to the steady stream of questions as they walked toward the parking lot, until:

"Do you think Dean made a mistake getting involved with Benny Lafitte?"

Gabriel huffed and stopped walking. "Hang on a sec, Cas. This is too good to pass up." He turned to face the reporters. Holding his hands up to get their attention off Cas, he said loudly, "You guys want to know the biggest mistake Dean Winchester ever made?"

Everyone fell silent, waiting. Cas watched him curiously, the glint in Gabe's eyes all too familiar.

"That damn octo-cobra movie. I mean, a paycheck's a paycheck, and I'm sure we all enjoyed the numerous shirtless scenes, but seriously, what was he thinking?" With a grin and a wave, he hustled Cas into his car, while the reporters stood still, looking at each other in stunned consternation.

His cell phone rang periodically as Cas drove home, a jarring punctuation to the dismal memories that he couldn't shake. It was ringing again when he let himself through his front door. He tiredly dropped his bag in the foyer and dug the phone out of the pocket, accidentally answering it when his thumb brushed the screen. He stared at it for a few seconds before ingrained courtesy had him reluctantly holding it to his ear. "Hello?"

"OMG! It's you! Thank god, I thought you'd never answer, please don't hang up, I'm Charlie Bradbury, I'm a friend of Dean's," came the response in one long breath.

Cas hesitated, unsure whether she was being truthful or not.

"Plus I'm his Social Media Manager as well. And kind of PR and sometimes just general moral support and cheerleading."

"I see," Cas said flatly. "And you're calling to ask me not to say anything?"

"No." That was surprising enough to stop Cas from disconnecting the call. "I mean, I guess I really should, given my job description, but Dean said to let you talk if you wanted to, that you deserved to say whatever you wanted, and he's kinda right, or at least not totally wrong, considering what he did --"

"You know what happened?" Cas interrupted. He felt the hot burn of humiliation across his cheeks when he thought about Dean sharing the story, strangers laughing at his naivete.

For the first time in the conversation she stayed silent for more than a breath, and when she spoke, she sounded subdued and a little apologetic. "Kinda. He's only ever talked to me about you once, and only after a truly staggering amount of alcohol, but yeah, I do."

He wandered into his living room, unable to form words, and sank into an armchair.

"For what it's worth, Dean's not that guy anymore," she offered.

"What, did the orgies lose their appeal?"

Silence.

"I'm sorry." Cas rubbed his temples. "I wasn't expecting to have to deal with any of this today. Maybe I'm not as over it as I thought I was."

"No, I'm sorry. And you have every right to be angry -- both about what happened back then and what's happening now. And I really wish I didn't have to ask, but are you planning to talk to anyone? I'm not asking you not to, but it would be helpful if we at least knew what was coming."

"What are my options?" he asked tiredly.

"Oh. Well, you could probably make some good money for an exclusive tell-all ... although I guess I shouldn't have told you that."

Cas chuckled. "Oddly, that doesn't sound all that appealing."

"Okay, good. Great." Charlie let out a relieved sigh. "So then your options are either total silence -- which doesn't really deter them all that much. They'll probably just make up their own stuff."

"I think I found that out already. I was called by a Bela Talbot earlier."

Charlie sucked in a breath, and the soft tap of computer keys came through the phone. "Hmmm... cagey huh? Eh. That's not too bad.

"Oh!"

"What?"

"You're kinda dreamy, Cas."

"What are you --"

"I just googled you."

"You can google me?"

"Yep. Right here. Dr. Castiel Novak, published in numerous academic journals -- impressive -- written two books, tenure-track at a prestigious university. And definitely super dreamy. Ever had any of your students write 'Love You' on their eyelids?"

"What? Why would someone --"

"Or you could issue a limited statement." She switched topics without even a breath. "Something like 'Yes, Dean and I dated. Our relationship ended when he moved to pursue his acting career.' Short, sweet, not a lie, but not too specific either. We can issue a similar statement from our camp. It's a little harder for them to run wild if there's actual words on record. And it might blow over faster."

"That sounds good. Better, anyway."

"Well, okay, then."

"Miss Bradbury?"

She squeaked. "Charlie, please! Miss Bradbury belongs in a Jane Austen novel."

"Okay, Charlie, then. Can I ask a favor?"

"Abso-tively."

"Could you .. would you write the statement? Something along the lines of what you said already. I can pay you. I just ... I wouldn't want to say anything to make this more difficult for Dean."

"Oh." She hesitated. "Sure, I can do that. And we should probably coordinate with your university public relations office. At least give them a heads up. I can do that as well. And I'll see who in the area can get the message out the best."

"That's ... that would be tremendously helpful, Charlie. Thank you." He felt a slight lessening of tension along his shoulders.

"It's no problem, Castiel."

"Is there going to be any trouble for Benny Lafitte or his wife?"

"Nah, Andrea's a sweetie -- and she already knows all about Benny's past with Dean. It's actually the press that needs to watch out there. The first one who implies to her face that Benny cheated is not going to leave that encounter unscathed."

Cas chewed at his lip before asking, "And Dean, is he doing okay?"

"Well, he's currently locked in his room with numerous mini bottles of alcohol. Don't worry, Sam's on top of things. He'll get him back on track."

"Well, that's good. I guess I should let you go." He felt strangely reluctant to hang up.

"Cas?" Charlie's voice softened. "Do you want me to tell Dean you were asking about him?"

Cas stared at the carpet beneath his feet. Dean had betrayed him, broken his heart, shaken his ability to trust anyone, including himself. Saying yes, reaching out to Dean, would mean opening himself up to all of that again. He should say no, wait out the temporary whirlwind of semi-notoriety, and then back to his regular life -- his safe, protected, predictable life.

"Cas?"

It was enough to know that Dean had people looking out for him. He didn't need Cas to get through this.

Cas sighed, resigned.

"Yes, please."

* * *

 

Pounding headache, eyes that felt like they had been scrubbed with sandpaper, a rolling stomach, and something definitely had died in his mouth. Dean groaned. Yep, he was definitely hungover. So why the hell was Sam stomping around his room at the crack of whatever the fuck time it was?

There was a loud clatter of bottles being swept off the nightstand into a trash can.

"What the fuck, Sam?"

"Oops! Did I wake you?" his brother apologized insincerely, then proceeded to jab at the blankets in the general vicinity of Dean's torso. "Get your ass out of bed. It's one in the afternoon, jerk."

Dean glared up at Sam from slitted eyes, unwilling to expose his brain to more light than necessary. "'Bitch' doesn't even begin to cover it right now."

"Charlie just texted. She's almost back with greasy diner food to cure your hangover. Although why she's being nice to you is beyond me. I said we should let you suffer"

The door to the suite opened, and they could hear Charlie singing to herself as she let herself in.

Giving Sam a hard time would be be gratifying, but taking care of his hangover took priority. Dean stretched under the covers, preparing his muscles to get up over their strong objection. "Yeah, okay. Just let me take a piss and brush this rodent off my tongue and I'll be right out."

"Ugh. Thanks for that image, Dean."

He cleaned himself up and followed the scent of bacon cheeseburger to the living room. Charlie grinned at him from the table where she had already started eating.

"You are a saint." Dean eased carefully into his chair and started eating.

"Thanks. But I think I'd rather be a goddess," she replied, dunking her fries into a mountain of ketchup.

"Don't think I can do that, but you'll always be the Queen of Moons to me."

"Okey-doke!"

Dean winced at her enthusiasm and she mouthed 'Sorry,' putting her finger over her lips.

They ate quietly for a bit until Dean's headache receded enough to start to pick up the pieces of the previous day.

"Okay. So, what's the status?"

"Fortunately, it looks like it'll probably blow over pretty quickly," Charlie started. "Bela's the only one who is really working to make a big deal out of this."

"Ain't gonna blow over too quick then. She's like a dog with a bone in a manger."

"I told you not to sleep with her, Dean."

Dean gave Sam a half-hearted glare, but couldn't muster any real annoyance. He had known it was a stupid idea to sleep with the reporter, but his rational brain hadn't really been in charge at that moment (or the half dozen that followed). She was pragmatic enough that he'd thought they were on the same page about it being just a casual thing. What she couldn't handle was the fact that Dean was the one who stopped calling first, and that decision had haunted him ever since.

"Sorry, man, I know that's not really helpful," Sam continued. "Anyway, moving on. Benny called. Apparently it was someone in his camp who leaked the photo. Sleeping with a reporter, wanted to seem all in the know. He says 'Sorry cher,' and he'll make it up to you with homecooked gumbo next time he sees you."

Dean nodded. Benny was a good guy who definitely didn't deserve any of this mess landing in his lap.

"And speaking of gumbo, I spoke with Castiel."

Both Winchesters stared at Charlie. Dean had to laugh. "Charlie Bradbury, everyone: the queen of the awkward segue."

She shrugged. "Like there's a good way to get into that part of the convo."

Sam looked at her interestedly. "You said it would blow over, so I'm assuming he's not going to talk to the press?"

"You assume correctly. At least not in the 'dump Dean's dirt all over the tabloids' way. He asked me to write up a short press release. Bela had already tracked him down and was trying to get him to say something, so we thought it would be better to just have him release a statement."

She grabbed a folder from her Bag of Holding and opened it, handing Dean a piece of paper. "I based it pretty much on what you've told me, but if you feel it's a misrepresentation, just let me know what I should change. Tried to keep it short and simple."

> _ Dean Winchester and I dated when we were teenagers. When he moved to California to pursue his acting career, we had hoped to maintain our relationship. Unfortunately, the physical distance combined with the stresses of his sudden success and my college studies, and we ultimately decided to stop seeing each other. We haven't spoken in many years, and I cannot comment on any relationships he pursued after we parted ways. _

Dean stared at the whitewashed version of one of the most painful times in his life, the words temporarily blurring then reforming. He shook his head. "He gonna be okay with this?"

He couldn't imagine how Cas wouldn't want to slam him all over the media, get some kind of revenge -- hell, it would be justice. But Cas had always been the better man; Dean had known that even before he'd moved. All he'd done was hasten Cas's realization that Dean was no good for him.

"Yeah, Dean, it's pretty much what I went over with him yesterday. Of course, I'll show it to him before releasing it. But based on our conversation, he just wants it all over. He doesn't want to tear you apart or anything."

She paused. "You could always talk to him yourself, you know," she added softly.

Dean snorted. "Uh, no, Charlie. Trust me, not wanting to eviscerate me in the papers does not equal wanting to have anything to do with me."

"But Dean --"

"Charlie," he warned.

"No. You listen to me, Dean Winchester." Dean's eyes widened. Charlie almost never pulled out the assertive tone. "Yeah, he sounds still kinda hurt, but he was concerned about you. Like -- really concerned. And honestly, Dean, yesterday? You handled the reveal, the press conference, being outed, all of it without a blip. Right up until someone mentioned Cas and then ...  "

"You weren't there, Charlie. There isn't a night I don't see his eyes, don't hear the shit I said to him. You didn't know me then. I was a mess, and I was messed up, and I took it all out on him."

"Dean, you fell in with the wrong crowd. It happens. The fact that I went with you to see you win an Oscar last year is a testament to how much you've changed. You never would have gotten here if you hadn't. The drugs are a thing of the past, the sex, the drinking -- well, for the most part," she amended at Sam's pointed throat clearing.

"But maybe it's time you started to forgive yourself," she finished.

"Charlie's not wrong, Dean. But we're not going to push, especially not right now." Sam gave her a look, and she reluctantly nodded. "What we're gonna do, is we're gonna get out of your hair for a couple of hours, let you relax, think, whatever."

"Yeah." Charlie stood and leaned down to wrap her arms around Dean's shoulders. "We love you," she whispered, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek. "We just want you to be happy."

He patted her hand, his mind spinning.

She straightened up. "Okay, just let me use the ladies' and we're outta here."

In five minutes, the trash was cleared and the door was closing behind Sam and Charlie, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts. Which was pretty much a completely unacceptable situation, as far as he was concerned, but no one seemed too worried about his opinion.

"Damn it!" He stalked into the bedroom. There was a script his agent had shoved into his bag to review, and now was the perfect time to do it. Crowley thought this was a must-do (probably because they were offering 10% over his last role), Sam was ambivalent, and Charlie was adamantly against it ('Don't do another crappy sci fi, Dean. Hold out for the good stuff. We need good sci fi!').

There was a piece of paper lying on his pillow. Even from the doorway he could see Charlie's signature purple ink and went over to pick it up. There was a phone number and two words -- Call him!!

Dean stared at the paper, shaking his head.  _ She had to have misread the whole thing. Why the fuck would Cas want to talk to me? Fucking pointless. _

He crumpled the note up and threw it toward the small recycling bin. He then proceeded to spend an agonizing half hour looking at the script before giving up. It wasn't even that it was a crappy script -- although it was; Charlie was definitely right about that -- it was that damn phone number dancing at the back of his mind the whole time.

With a growl, he tossed the script aside and retrieved the paper from floor beside the bin, smoothing it out with jerky movements. He stared at it for a minute, before grabbing his phone and angrily jabbing at each number on the virtual keypad -- and damn, did he miss real phones with buttons and weight and -- the phone was ringing. And it kept ringing. Just before he was about to hang up --  _ See, I tried and fate decreed that we were not to talk _ would make a nice excuse for Charlie -- the call was picked up.

"Hello?" Cas's voice. It was deeper now, a little rough like he'd been talking all day. Dean could hear every day of the fifteen years they hadn't spoken in that one word.

"Hello? Who is this?"

_ Right, yeah, I actually need to answer him. _ Dean tried to swallow, half choked, and managed to get a couple of words out. "Hey, Cas."

There was a pause. Dean desperately waited for what would come next.

"Hello, Dean."

* * *

 

> Castiel hefted his overnight bag onto his shoulder as he made his way through the crowded airport. He was disappointed at Dean's absence, but his manager had said Dean might not be able to get to the airport to meet him. Cas was still a little fuzzy on why Mr. Halling had been the one finalizing the trip details, but Dean's career had really been taking off in the past few months, and he just must have not had the free time.
> 
> Catching a glimpse of Dean's face on the corner of an entertainment magazine at one of the newsstands only served to reinforce that idea. Dean hadn't even been able to answer most of his calls lately.
> 
> When Dean had first moved to California nearly a year ago, they had talked daily, exchanged lengthy emails, been making plans for Cas to transfer to UCLA as soon as Dean was sure he was staying out there. As Dean got busier, the calls became more sporadic, the emails shorter and less personal.
> 
> Cas had been just about ready to cancel the trip altogether; he'd even emailed Dean, proposing that they wait for a better time when things had calmed down for him. But then Alastair Halling had called, saying that Dean was having a hard time adjusting to his new fame, and he thought that Cas would be just the thing to help perk him up. Cas had arranged his campus tour as soon as Mr. Halling had sent him the dates Dean was available.
> 
> Cas spent the cab ride to Dean's apartment building trying not to seem too much like a tourist, gawking out the windows. After all, if everything went right, he'd be living here soon.
> 
> As the cab pulled to a stop, Cas was met by a tall, thin -- and vaguely creepy -- man.
> 
> "You must be Castiel. You look just like the pictures Dean showed me." The man paid the cabbie before Cas could even get his wallet out. "Dean's upstairs," he continued. "Apartment 1245. The door should be open; you can just go right in."
> 
> Cas carefully repressed a shiver as Alastair smiled at him. "Thank you."
> 
> He headed in, the doorman letting him through at a nod from Alastair, and he took the elevator to the twelfth floor.
> 
> Music filled the hallway when the elevator dropped Cas off -- loud and pounding, Cas could feel it through his feet. How could Dean stand living with neighbors like that? The music continued to get louder as he approached Dean's apartment.
> 
> Apparently, Dean was that neighbor. Castiel frowned. Maybe it had something to do with preparing for a role. Ordinarily, Dean was all about classic rock -- only played loudly in the car with the windows down, or when Sam was being particularly annoying.
> 
> At least now he knew why Alastair had told him to go straight in. There was no way Dean would hear him knocking. He hesitated before turning the doorknob, an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He shook it off and opened the door.
> 
> He froze before he even tried to step foot in the apartment -- he flicked his eyes back to the door to make sure he hadn't misread the number (it still said 1245) -- and back into the room. His eyes widened, trying to take it all in. It was like the set from an after-school special -- the scene just as everything goes to hell.
> 
> There were people everywhere -- dancing, talking, making out (honestly it was only the scant amount of clothing they were wearing that kept it from being actual sex). Every table, counter, horizontal space was littered with bottles, and pills, and powders. The scent of weed hung heavy in the air.
> 
> This couldn't be real. It didn't make any sense. Maybe Dean had a roommate who ...
> 
> "Hey cutie! You looking for some fun?"
> 
> A petite blonde in a bra and short shorts smiled coyly at him, pulling him into the apartment and closing the door behind him.
> 
> "Um, I'm looking for Dean Winchester." He shrugged away as she tried to slip her hands under his coat.
> 
> "Dean?" she pouted. "He's in the private party." She looked over at a closed door across the room, probably a bedroom, Cas assumed. The uneasy feeling grew into a sick certainty that he did not want to see past that door.
> 
> It didn't seem to matter what he thought; he was across the room and standing at the closed door before he even realized he was moving. He stared at the door, the music at his back not quite drowning out the sound of Dean's voice from inside the room. Sounds that until now had belonged only to Cas, harsh grunts stringing into breathy moans.
> 
> "Oh fuck, baby, yeah ... like that ... Yeah, I'm ..."
> 
> Cas let his bag drop to the floor, unable to bear the weight. His stomach roiled, but he couldn't make himself stop listening."
> 
> "... I'm coming ... fuck, fuck, fuuuhhhh..."
> 
> A strange numbness settled over Castiel, the sounds of the party faded to a barely noticeable background hum as Dean's stuttered words echoed over and over in his brain.
> 
> He wasn't sure how long he stood there, frozen still like a statue, before someone bumped into him, jostling him out of his stupor.
> 
> "Man, what the fuck did you take? You look like shit."
> 
> "I ... " Cas looked at yet another half-naked Hollywood hopeful. The boy was staring at him with concern. "I came to see Dean."
> 
> The boy's gaze flicked to the closed door and back to Cas, eyeing him critically. "Well, you're not his usual type, but hey, give it a shot, right?" He winked and pounded his fist on the door.
> 
> "Hey Winchester, get your dick outta whatever hole it's in. You got a newbie out here!"
> 
> A second later the door was opened by a giggling brunette. She looked Cas up and down condescendingly. "Yeah," she stretched the word out, shaking her head. "Nope. You don't get the joke."
> 
> She started to close the door when Dean's voice stopped her.
> 
> "Wait! Cas?" Dean was struggling to a seated position on the queen-sized bed, pushing off his bed partners, who looked very annoyed to be dismissed, but quickly occupied themselves with each other once Dean was out of bed. He stood and pulled on a pair of boxers, looking very confused. His eyes were bloodshot, pupils blown wide, his skin almost sickly pale, making the red flush at his cheeks and the darkening hickeys across his chest stand out starkly.
> 
> "What are you doing here, man?"
> 
> "We planned ... my visit ... I--" Cas stammered, well aware of nearly everyone in the room watching them. "I guess I shouldn't have come after all."
> 
> Dean's eyes widened. "Oh fuck, that's now, iss'n it?"
> 
> Cas opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The brunette looked between him and Dean and pouted.
> 
> "Deanie, this guy's bringing me down. Can you just get rid of him?"
> 
> In an instant, Dean slid on a cocky grin. "Old friend from home, sweetheart. You know how it is." He winked at her, then shrugged. "Or maybe you don't."
> 
> She huffed. "God you are such a dick, Dean."
> 
> "Best one around. Must be why you keep coming back."
> 
> "Whatever." She flounced over to the group on the bed in a huff.
> 
> Dean turned back to Cas, grabbed him by the arm and led him into the ensuite bathroom. Even this room was full -- Cas counted four people squeezed into the bathtub before Dean snapped, "Everybody out!"
> 
> There was a chorus of groans, but people started filing out. Dean threw some towels at the few bathers who didn't seem to notice there were dripping water everywhere.
> 
> "Frickin' heathens, I swear," he grumbled. He hiked himself up to sit on the counter. "So ... " he drawled lazily.
> 
> Cas closed the door firmly and turned back, his heart beating furiously in his chest.
> 
> "What the hell is going on here, Dean?"
> 
> He smirked. "It's a party, Cas. I mean, I know you didn't go to a whole lotta 'em, but, hey ..." Dean picked up a half-smoked joint from the counter and lit it.
> 
> "I don't .... I don't get it. Is this some sort of joke? A prank?"
> 
> "That's what I'm starting to wonder, man," Dean mumbled on his inhale. He held the joint out to Cas, but he just shook his head.
> 
> "Why am I not surprised? Fucking perfect Castiel Novak." He drew another long pull, his voice tight as he asked, "Why'd you come out here, Cas?"
> 
> "Why?"
> 
> Dean blew out a long stream of smoke. Cas wrinkled his nose, but there was nowhere to escape in the small room. Rolling his eyes, Dean reached over and flicked the switch to turn on the vent fan.
> 
> "Yeah, Castiel. 'Why?'"
> 
> "Our plans ... " Cas shrugged sadly. "I thought ... "
> 
> Dean laughed loudly, nearly tipping himself off the counter. "You thought we were the real thing - forever love - high school sweethearts destined to always be together."
> 
> Cas blushed. He wouldn't have ever said it in those words, but the sentiment was there. And Dean had felt that way too, he was sure of it. Who knew that only a matter of months could change so much?
> 
> Dean was still chuckling. "That's precious. That shit only happens in movies, man. This is real life."
> 
> "You've changed, Dean."
> 
> "You bet your ass I changed. I'm finally free. And you're the same small town kid with a stick up your ass."
> 
> There was knocking on the door.
> 
> "Look man, it was fun while lasted. And with a little bit of luck, one day you'll be telling people that you fucked Dean Winchester." Dean's eyes flicked to the door, then fell shut.
> 
> "You bastard.  ..." Words failed him. "If you think I'm anything like those ... people out there, I wonder if you ever really knew me at all."
> 
> Dean's eyes were hard he opened them. He shrugged. "Doesn't really matter, does it? Now, whatever, you can stay and party in the outside room, or you can leave, but --" He leaned past Cas to open the door.
> 
> "Goodbye, Dean." Cas tried to convince himself that the prickling in his eyes was due to the smoke as he slipped through the people in the bedroom, pretended he wasn't waiting for Dean's yell, asking him to stay, saying it was all a mistake, as he found his bag kicked into a corner and made his way out of the apartment.
> 
> He walked automatically without direction, out of the building, past the idling car in front, just putting one foot in front of the other. He stopped at crosswalks by unconscious survival instinct. He didn't want to think, to feel, didn't want to acknowledge what had just happened, because ...
> 
> What the hell had just happened?
> 
> Eventually, he looked around, suddenly aware that he had no clue where he was. Walking another block brought him to a bus stop, where he sagged wearily against the small rain shelter. Dean's words kept replaying in his head, the sounds he had heard through the door, interspersed with the Dean he had known, green eyes shining with anticipation as he had loaded the Impala up for the trip.
> 
> _ "I'm gonna be a star, Cas. And you'll come out and I'll take care of you while you go to school. You and me, we're gonna rock LA, babe!" _
> 
> The bus arrived and Cas fumbled for change to board. When he sat, he pulled out his phone and called UCLA to cancel his visit and decline admission. He watched the buildings pass by without seeing anything --

The staticy sound of the train's PA system announcing Cas's stop brought him back to the present with a start. He stood and made his way onto the platform, trying to shake the unpleasant memory. He hadn't thought about the details of that day for a very long time, although it wasn't a surprise that it would come up now -- now that he was on his way to actually see Dean in person for the first time in over a decade. He took a deep breath as he saw the coffee shop on the corner.

Even as late as that morning, he hadn't been sure he would go. He wasn't sure what Dean had had in mind when he suggested they meet. He wasn't even sure what he was hoping to get from this.

Their phone conversation had been stilted -- too full of words, too devoid of meaning.

Still, when Dean had haltingly asked to meet, Cas had agreed with only a second's hesitation. Dean had emailed within an hour, including the location of a small coffee shop on the other side of the city from the University, as well as instructions to dress unobtrusively and not to take his own car.

It had been harder than Cas had anticipated, getting off campus without being seen by the couple of reporters that were still hanging around after his statement had been released, and he was running later than he liked as he opened the door, a cheery bell tinkling over his head, and searched the patrons, zeroing in on Dean immediately, green eyes already watching him. Dean indicated the second cup of coffee on the table in front of him, so Cas skipped the counter and made his way over to the table Dean had chosen in a relatively secluded corner.

* * *

 

Dean looked up at the sound of the bell -- as he had every time someone had walked in during the half-hour he'd been waiting. He kept reminding himself that he'd gotten there insanely early, but with the arrival of each person who wasn't Cas, he became more and more discouraged. Why had Cas agreed to meet with him? The overly dramatic part of his mind wondered if Cas was planning to stand him up and alert the press -- get some nice pics of jilted Dean Winchester.

But it was Cas -- alone -- this time. Dean's heart pounded double-time as Cas walked over. Holy hell, the picture on the University website came nowhere close to capturing how drop-dead sexy adult Cas was. Dean had worked with some of the best looking Hollywood had to offer -- including at least 2 winners of the Sexiest Man Alive award -- and they didn't hold a candle to Cas, who was now taking his seat, staring at Dean intently.

"Hello, Dean."

"Cas ... tiel," he stammered, unsure if the familiar nickname would still be welcome. He nodded at the cup in front of Cas's seat. "I hope you still take it black."

"Thank you," Cas replied stiffly, lifting the cup and taking an experimental sip, fingers playing with the lid when he put it back down.

They sat in silence. Damn it, why had he thought this would be a good idea? Some misguided notion of giving Cas closure wrapped around the selfish hope of forgiveness.

The silence was getting to him and if one of them didn't speak soon, it was going to become fairly insurmountable.

"Cas, um ... Castiel, I --"

"Cas is fine, Dean."

"Okay, cool, yeah ... So, Cas ..."

Cas looked at him expectantly.

"Yeah, that's all I got so far." Dean grimaced sheepishly as Cas laughed.

"Well, we have at least established that we remember each other's names."

Dean tapped his temple. "Like a steel trap."

"Well," Cas started with a deep breath. "How are you?"

"How am I?' Dean repeated incredulously.

Cas shrugged. "I'm really not sure what we're supposed to talk about, Dean."

"Yeah, me neither. I thought this would flow a little better."

Cas frowned at him. "How so?"

"Well, I figured you would come in and just start yelling, we'd get everything out on the table, and go from there."

Cas shook his head. "Yelling is not on the agenda. I don't --"

"You're Dean Winchester!"

They both jumped slightly as a twenty-ish woman appeared next to the table, nearly vibrating with excitement. Dean reluctantly slid in P.R. mode (heaving a dramatic internal sigh at the interruption), wondering if he'd get the chance to figure out what Cas was going to say -- he didn't care? He didn't yell in public? Didn't -- what?

"I sure am!" She flushed scarlet he answered with a bright smile.

"Oh god. I'm so stupid. Of course you know that. It's just... I'm such a big fan. I've seen all your movies."

He chuckled. "I'm sorry about that. There are some real stinkers in that list."

"Oh no. They're always worth it to see you."

"Well, thank you." She was already opening her mouth to say something else, but he really wanted 1) to get back to Cas and 2) to get her away before she recognized Cas. "Hey, you got a phone with you? Want a selfie?"

Cas winced noticeably at her squeal of delight. The photo was quick and done and Dean squeezed her shoulder in farewell. "It was great meeting you."

She looked somewhat disappointed, but took the dismissal gracefully.

"That happen a lot?" Cas asked once the girl was back at her own table, fingers flying over her phone's screen.

Dean shrugged. "Define 'a lot.'" He winced inwardly and tried to tell from Cas's face if that had come off as humble or asshole. Unfortunately, Cas had had years to perfect his stoic expression.

"Is it worth it?"

"Wow, so just skipping right over the small talk, huh?"

Cas raised an eyebrow. "We were failing dismally at "small talk." So... fame -- is it worth it? Everything you thought it would be?"

"It has its good and bad, like anything, I guess. The past few weeks have actually turned out to be pretty awesome. Charlie keeps forwarding me messages from kids thanking me for coming out -- or not hiding from it, I guess really, since coming out wasn't exactly my idea."

A warm smile lit Cas's face. "That's great though. That this whole situation is having a positive impact."

It really was. Dean had expected much more negative fallout -- and of course there was plenty of that -- but for all the studio had worried, the paying public seemed to have very little problem with recent revelations. And the emails and posts from people -- both in the biz and not -- were enough to make Dean wish he had done this years before.

"But generally, I try to keep my life pretty quiet," Dean continued, wincing as Cas's barely restrained look of disbelief.

"Listen, man, what you saw -- that whole thing -- the, the drugs, the parties, the ..."

"Random sex with multiple people?" Cas filled in drily.

"Yeah. That's not part of the package for me anymore."

Cas took a slow breath; his eyes were filled with hurt when he spoke. "I didn't know it was ever supposed to be -- when you talked about going to California, that was never ... it was always about the acting."

Dean wished this were one of his movies so they could skip over the exposition part and just get to Cas either storming out or forgiving him. But no, this was how life had to happen. 

"I barely even know where to start. It wasn't like that at first, not until after I signed with Alastair."

"Alastair Halling?" Cas interrupted.

A chill settled over Dean. "How do you know that name, Cas? He didn't .... You didn't ..." Alastair's threats echoed in Dean's head.

Cas spoke slowly, his brow furrowed in thought. "He was the one who made the final arrangements for my trip out there. He contacted me and said you need to see a friendly face from home."

Cas's words didn't make any sense at first. Alastair hadn't given a shit if anyone was happy or comfortable or anything that wasn't of direct use to him.

"Son of a bitch! He set us up."

He felt sick as the entirety of Alastair's plan settled over him, just another in the string of twisted mind games he had played back then.

Cas just looked confused when Dean made himself look at him. "I don't understand. What do you mean 'set us up'?"

Dean nodded to show Cas he'd heard him, trying to sort out his thoughts. He hadn't thought they'd be getting into this territory today. Alastair was a rough subject anytime, but to share it with Cas -- especially now that he knew Alastair's machinations had affected Cas even more directly that he had thought ...

Dean hadn't even realized he was shaking until Cas's hand covered his on the table. He leaned forward with an earnest look. "Dean, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"No, Cas. No. You deserve to know this."

Cas studied him for a minute then sat back with a nod. Dean's hand felt cold and he wrapped it around the now lukewarm cup.

"So, up front -- what I'm going to tell you is not an excuse. No matter what was going on around me, I'm responsible for my own choices -- and I made a whole buncha bad ones those first years. This is just .... explanation, I guess."

"I understand," Cas replied with a soft, encouraging smile.

"When I first went out there -- California -- I was just a kid from Nowheresville, USA, a fact that was driven home pretty quickly. I thought I was ready, but -- this business is really rough. And I wasn't doing as well as I think I kind of let everyone back home believe." He rubbed a hand over his face. "It's silly, but I felt like I'd be letting everyone down if I didn't make it big.

"On top of that, it was so much more expensive than I had anticipated. I blew through my savings almost right away, even living in some little fleabag shithole and working two restaurant jobs. After a couple of months, I was just about ready to head home."

It had been crushingly disappointing to even consider that, but Dean wasn't about to ask his parents for more money and he wasn't going to get involved with any of the fast-money options that abounded in the area (and that all seemed to end with someone naked or bloody).

"I --" Cas started to speak, then quieted.

"What, Cas?"

"I wish I'd known, Dean. I feel like I could've been more supportive."

"Yeah, sometimes I wonder I wonder what would've happened if I'd told you, anyone ... I guess I was just too embarrassed. But you did help, man. I felt so much better every time we talked -- you believed in me so much, and to hear that after another shitty day of not being good enough ...

"Anyway, one of the guys I workshopped with told me about Alastair. He said the guy was like a miracle worker, almost guaranteed to get you a job -- if he liked you. He had a reputation for being really picky. I almost didn't even try; I mean, what was I going to have that he didn't already see dozens of times a week?"

Alastair had been his last attempt. He'd sent off a headshot, requesting a meeting. He had been so convinced that it was another dead end that he'd done zero research on the guy, didn't even ask what happened to Alastair's clients after the initial burst of success.

"I heard back from him almost immediately. We met, and he said he'd take me on -- teach me, 'mold' me." Dean still felt nauseous whenever he remembered the dark look in Alastair's eyes, the raspy sound of his voice. "Nobody else was interested in repping me, so I signed with him. Alastair was effective, yeah, and things just started happening. I got a couple of high profile guest spots, a movie role, every talk show wanted to have me on. It was like someone flipped a switch, and I went from struggling nobody to ultra-hot commodity overnight. None of it was really challenging acting, or even that interesting; I was pretty much just the new 'pretty face.'

"Knowing what I know now, I figure Alastair must've had dirt on at least a third of the casting agents -- not to mention the rest of Hollywood. They hired who he told them to. And those days, he wanted them to hire me."

He looked down to see that he'd bent the little plastic coffee stirrer into an accordion, and tossed it on the table.

"So I was running around non-stop day after day. It started wearing on me, and Alastair was there. He started slowly -- a pick-me-up here or there, something to help me sleep the night before an interview, something to pep me up for a shoot. Then there were a couple of strongly worded requests to show my face at this or that party."

He fell silent. Cas waited, his eyes tight, jaw tense. Dean sipped his coffee while he gathered his thoughts.

"He liked power. He had a whole little harem or entourage or whatever of wannabes that followed him around, did whatever he said, but he needed the guys like me -- success stories -- to keep them hopeful."

The coffee soured in his stomach at the memory of some of the things he'd seen. He'd spent years of therapy dealing with his own actions and how Alastair had impacted him, but the memories of those kids debasing themselves so willingly, so eagerly, while he sat and did nothing -- or worse, enjoyed the results -- still made him physically sick.

"A con man needs to be able to present some results," Cas murmured, "to keep his marks interested and pliable."

"Yeah, but even my success wasn't real. Or at least I hadn't earned it on merit. But none of us knew that then. I'm honestly not sure how many of them would have cared, either." He huffed a dispirited laugh.

"I knew something was wrong -- none of it felt like I'd always imagined, y'know? And the drugs and the sex and the parties, they were so easy to lose myself in, to push back that feeling of wrongness.

"I tried to fight it at first -- putting in appearances and heading out early. After the third time I did that, Alastair called and told me I'd been dropped from consideration for a lead in a series. They'd as much as told me I had the role in the room. But if I wasn't playing his game, I wasn't gonna get the prize. He didn't say it in so many words, but I'm sure he turned them down.

"So I just ... I played ball. And I took the pills he handed me and I threw the parties when he told me to ..."

Dean's throat ached. He looked at Cas, sitting with concern and compassion on his face. "I cheated on you, Cas. It was only ever just sex. I never, ever felt about anyone like I feel about you, but -- God that's even worse. To throw away what we had for something so empty, so superficial. And after that day, I never dreamed I'd get the change to apologize, so..."

He licked suddenly dry lips and and took a deep breath. 

"I'm so sorry, Cas. You deserved so much better. I would never ask you to forgive me, but please know that I hated that you got hurt. That  _ I _ was the one who hurt you."

He trailed off, unable to truly express the regret that he felt. Cas's face was nearly blank, his eyes trained on Dean's as he processed his words. Dean bit back the urge to keep explaining, to force Cas to understand. It wasn't enough, Dean knew that; some paltry words could never fix what he had broken, but they were the truth. And if it wasn't enough for Cas, Dean would just find a way to live with it.

Cas drew in a deep breath and leaned forward, taking one of Dean's hands in his own. He shook his head.

"Thank you for the apology. I admit that everything being brought up again after all this time threw me for a loop, but I forgave you a long time ago, Dean."

Dean stared at him, flummoxed. He had betrayed the one person who had meant more to him than anyone outside his family; there had never been anyone since who had been as close to Dean as Cas had been. How was that forgivable? 

"We were kids, Dean." Cas smiled gently. "I know we felt so damn grown-up, but I see it every day in my classes. They're 18, 19, even in their twenties, and they think they know everything, that they have it all figured out. But they don't. Nowhere near. And neither did we."

His face hardened as he continued, in contrast to his thumb softly stroking along Dean's wrist. "Add to that what you endured with that Alastair person .... "

"I could've walked away, Cas. I --"

"And we're back to 'you were just a kid.' Yes, you made some bad decisions, things got out of hand," he swallowed, "and people got hurt. But you got out, Dean." Cas smiled widely at him. "Look at you -- even with all that, look at the successes you've had. How did that happen anyway?"

Dean sighed. "It was Sam, actually. He was the real catalyst," he said slowly. It was weird, but even after what he'd done to Cas, what Cas had seen in person, he felt reticent to share the rest of the story with him.

Cas just waited patiently.

"After what happened, what I did ... well, after that night, I kind of threw myself into that whole scene. I just wanted to forget, to not think about it, to prove to myself what an awesome time I was having, that I didn't need you."

It had been a hollow attempt at best, but at least with other people around, he looked like he was having fun.

"It was, I don't know, maybe a year, year and a half later, that Sammy came out for a visit. Nobody had come out before that, except you. I was actually kind of surprised you hadn't told anyone about everything."

"I ... it didn't feel right. Your folks didn't even know I was going then. So, I just told everyone we'd broken up and left it at that. Then I chose a school out of town and ran."

A stab of regret at what could've been left Dean aching to soothe Cas, but he had forfeited that right a long time ago.

"Anyway, Sam came out and well, to put it bluntly, it was a disaster. It all came to a head when I took him to set with me. I was actually stone-cold sober -- he'd been so disapproving of the partying the first couple of days -- I couldn't even get through the scene. Two-eighths of a page and I was ..."

He scoffed, remembering how he'd stumbled over the simple lines, kept missing his mark. Everything had felt so wrong.

"We took five and I found a corner, popped some pills to get my mind straight, and looked up to see Sammy just staring at me. That look in his eyes -- almost the same as yours, and I just..." He blew out a harsh breath. No matter how far he'd come since then, it still crushed him to think how he'd let his little brother down. 

"I got through the scene, took Sam out to some shitty diner, and the whole thing just spilled out. I promised him I would stop. I could see in his eyes that he didn't believe me, but that was the beginning."

"The beginning?"

"With Alastair -- getting out from under his thumb, I had to move carefully. It wasn't even what he could do to me or my career; he'd threatened to hurt you, or Sammy. By that point, he wasn't even pretending to be doing anything for me. I started looking for another agent, real quietly; started trying to see if I could get enough dirt on him to, I dunno, blackmail  _ him _ , or have him arrested.

"I met this guy, another agent, named Crowley. Almost as devious as Alastair, but more upfront about it. He was none too happy about Alastair's schemes and already had enough on him to put him away for a long time. He just needed someone to stand up."

"You?" Cas looked equal parts concerned and impressed.

"Yeah," Dean acknowledged. "I figured it was the least I could do. Screw my career, whatever. I'd go back to Lawrence and work as a mechanic if I had to, but this guy needed taking down and no one else was gonna do it."

"That's amazing, Dean. But I never heard about any of this." He flushed as he continued. "And I kind of followed your career kinda closely."

"Yeah, well, you didn't hear about it 'cause the guy had dirt on everyone and no one wanted him talking in open court. He was arrested, indicted, released on bail... and murdered."

Cas opened his mouth, closed it, almost literally biting back the question.

"It wasn't me, Cas. I don't know who it was; the list of people who wanted him dead is a mile long, at least. But that was that.

"With Crowley's help, I got in a very private rehab, got my career back in a direction that I wanted to go. Haven't touched any non-medically prescribed drugs since.

"I thought about reaching out to you to apologize, but I thought it would just be more painful for you. Or maybe I was just too scared."

Cas squeezed his hand.

"So, that's the whole sordid story."

"Thank you for telling me."

Dean shook his head to clear away the baggage and looked around, trying to escape the raw emotion in Cas's eyes. His fan was still sitting at her table, still tapping vigorously at her phone. A friend had joined her -- a friend whose phone was angled suspiciously in their direction.

He kept his gaze moving, finished looking around the small shop and then back to Cas.

"So, not a big deal, but I think that girl is filming us. Don't look!" he added a Cas inevitably started to turn his head.

"Okay, and ... ?" He followed Dean's lead and started tidying up.

"Well, best case, she and her friend just want some candid footage of me for their personal use. Less great would be if they're planning to share it out publicly."

"Is there a worst case here?"

"If they recognized you and are attaching your name to a livestream video."

"Why would they --?"

Dean almost laughed at the confusion on Cas's face. He stood up as he said, "You're news now, Cas. Just another way for me to screw your life up, I guess. We'd better get going any which way."

Cas stood as well and halted Dean with a hand to his shoulder. Dean turned, stepping to the side to make sure he was between the camera and Cas.

"Dean, the past few weeks have been interesting, and sometimes inconvenient, but it hasn't 'screwed up' anything for me."

"If it gets out that we've seen each other again, it's a whole new ballgame, Cas. Let's go."

He let Cas lead the way to the door, trying to keep him as hidden as possible, and wishing he was a big enough man not to be mentally drooling over Cas's ass.

The bell rang as Cas opened the door and stepped through. Dean was close enough on his heels that he nearly slammed his nose into Cas's skull when he stopped abruptly. Dean looked around as Cas murmured, "I guess it was a live feed after all."

"Well, well, if it isn't Dr. Castiel Novak. And who's he with? Oh, it's the famous Dean Winchester."

From the small crowd of fans and photographers stepped the last person Dean wanted to see at that moment.

"Bela."

* * *

 

And there they were. Cas with Dean in front of Bela and a handful of reporters and fans. And thanks to Bela helpfully (and loudly) naming Cas, there wasn't a hope in hell of keeping him entirely out of the spotlight.

Okay then.

Dean stepped out from behind Cas with a cocky grin and a wave. "Hey everybody. Surprise!"

The questions started immediately, even as Dean subtly maneuvered the crowd away from the direct path into the shop, keeping as close to Cas as he could.

"What are you doing here, Dean?"

"Just in town to visit an old friend." He swung an arm over Cas's shoulders and felt the tension almost vibrating beneath his skin as the questions continued: Why here, across town from where Cas lived and worked, what are they hiding, are they dating again...

He held his hands up. "I've really only got a couple of minutes, but we met here because, well, we wanted a little privacy. I love you guys, but it's hard to have a meaningful conversation during a press conference. But how 'bout some pics?"

It was a meaningless question as they'd been taking pictures the whole time anyway, but at least it gave him the illusion that he was in control. "Smile," he whispered to Cas, who gave him a disbelieving look. "Okay, forget the smile, just try not to look like you want to kill anyone."

He winked at Cas, happy to see his features soften a bit, lose some of the frozen shock, as he turned back to grin (or kind of grimace) at the crowd. Questions were still being shouted, and a lot of them were being directed at Cas.

"Hey, guys," Dean interjected. "Give him a break. He's still new to this whole circus."

They weren't thrilled but they grudgingly addressed their questions to him. Dean answered several, always redirecting anything too personal about Cas to another topic.

Finally he shook his head. "All right. I gotta get out of here. Thanks for your time!"

With a gentle tug on Cas's shoulder, he started them walking down the street away from the mass of the crowd. A few fans started following, but quickly dropped back when they realized no one else was. Dean turned the first corner they came to and was utterly unsurprised to find Bela waiting for them.

"Not here," he muttered.

She pursed her lips, but fell into step as Dean continued walking.

"Dean?" Cas asked quietly. "Where are we going?"

"Just a couple of blocks, I think." He pointed to a wooded area not far ahead. "There's a park. We should be able to find a private enough spot to hash this out once and for all."

Cas looked between Bela and Dean and shrugged. They continued in silence to the park, skirting the more populated area and finally finding a small, empty gazebo.

"Okay, Bela, why the hell are you doing this?"

"Doing what, darling?"

"This, all of this. Digging up Cas, putting his name out in public, that whole little spectacle back there. Why?"

"Oh that."

"Yes, that," Dean barked.

"Because I can."

Dean bit back an annoyed retort. "I don't get it, though. How'd you even know about Cas in the first place? More specifically, that there was a story there."

She ran a hand through her hair and stared out at the street. "You weren't the only one who got your start through Alastair, you know. He made sure I had just enough dirt on all his pretty people. He gave me the story back when it happened -- either to hold over your head to keep you in line, or to eventually start the Dissolution of Dean Winchester.

"Once Alastair was... taken care of," a dark look crossed her face, "I decided to sit on it, keep it stored away in case I ever needed it."

Dean stared at her in shock. He vaguely felt Cas's hand on his arm.

"All this time, you knew about the parties and ... and Cas and ... everything else?"

She nodded.

"I don't get it. Then, why now?"

"Oh, I think you know, Dean." She patted his cheek.

"Holy ... is this really about what happened between us?"

She raised one shoulder gently and smirked.

"God, Bela. We had some good times, went to some parties. It was fun, but I never promised you anything more than that."

"You stopped calling me."

"Yeah, things ran their course." It had been a fun flirtation, a couple of rolls in the hay, but they were never going to be a long-term thing. They had both been very clear going into it. At least he thought they had.

"True. But I'm the one who gets to walk away." She affected a pout. "You hurt my feelings."

He snorted. "Like you have feelings, Bela. Jesus."

"You're not really helping your case, Winchester."

"Okay, but still, that was a couple of years ago, Bela. You wanted revenge, you had the dirt. Why wait? Why didn't you start all this then?"

She tapped a long, bloodred nail against her lips. "Hmmm... it seems that I've heard revenge is a dish best served cold. It would hardly have been as fun if I had done it when you were expecting it. And that picture of you and Lafitte was just the perfect catalyst. Dean Winchester: heartbreaker, homewrecker."

Dean looked over at Cas. He had severely underestimated Bela's drive for revenge, not that he could have even anticipated her trying to pull Cas into the whole crazy thing. And honestly, he could ride whatever she threw at him, but Cas didn't deserve it.

He gave her his most charming smile and relaxed along the little railing, doing his best to appear non-threatening. "Listen, Bela, you can do whatever you want, say whatever you want, print whatever you want about me. I deserve it, sure. But leave Cas out of it. There's no way you get anything out of hurting him or embarrassing him."

She arched a brow and opened her mouth to speak, but Cas spoke first.

"No, Dean. Bela, go ahead and print whatever you want. About me, about Dean and me, whatever."

They both looked over at him in surprise. He looked back at them with an even gaze.

"Dean's problem with you going ahead with this story seems to be with its impact on me, but I don't care. It's in the past." He crossed one ankle over the other as he leaned casually against an upright post. "Sure, it might be a little embarrassing, but nobody ever died from embarrassment."

"But, Cas," Dean argued, "that will put you right back in the spotlight. And it won't blow over nearly as quickly."

Cas shrugged easily. "I can handle it, Dean."

Bela narrowed her eyes. "Be careful, Professor. I just might call your bluff."

"No bluff."

Dean stopped himself from physically going to Cas, not wanting to give Bela any more ammunition in her arsenal. But this was not how he had wanted this to go.

"There'll be questions and reporters. Again, Cas, are you sure?"

Cas smiled softly at him. "I'm prepared to tell anyone who asks that I have forgiven you, and that I'm glad to have you back in my life and hope to continue to nurture our renewed friendship."

Bela scoffed. "You've forgiven him? Please."

"Yes, Miss Talbot, I have. Long ago, actually. It would have hurt me much more than Dean if I had held onto that anger all those years in my head and my heart."

The flood of relief that Dean felt at his words almost masked Bela's cold, "As you wish."

"I will caution, however, Miss Talbot," Cas continued. "My best friend is a law professor who spends most of his days looking up the most interesting, convoluted cases he can find. He's a big fan of using the finding ways to use the law to ensure that wrongdoers always get their just deserts."

She licked her lips. "Is that so?"

He nodded. "He is a practicing lawyer in good stead with the bar in several states, including, I believe, the state in which your publication happens to be headquartered. So, if you write one single word that is untrue, I can promise that you will not see the end of legal battles heading your way."

She stood up, pale and tense. and walked away without another word.

"Wow." Dean looked at Cas with an awed respect. "Your students must be terrified of you."

He slumped and let out a breath. "I assure Dean, I am not usually that impressive in class. I'm more the type to get lost in a thought mid-sentence and wander out of the classroom to research an idea."

Dean laughed. "Sounds familiar." He finally gave in and scooted over to where Cas stood, just close enough that he could touch him with barely a movement. "She might still write the article, you know. She's got enough facts to hang me out to dry without making anything up."

"She might. But I think she'll be agonizing over every word, trying to double-check every fact and it was years ago, Dean. I'm hoping she'll decide that it's just too much trouble. But if not, that's fine. I really wasn't bluffing."

Dean bumped Cas's shoulder with his. "So does that mean you really are glad that we've reconnected?"

"Without a doubt."

"As friends, or as ..." Dean trailed off, unable to put anything else into words.

"It's been a long time, Dean. We've both grown, changed, lived almost half of our lives apart." The sudden plummeting of Dean's heart was stopped by the feel of Cas's hand taking his own. "Friends, for sure, to start. But maybe, friends with potential?"

Dean squeezed Cas's hand and reminded himself that this wasn't one of his movies. They weren't going to just fall right back into each other's arms. And that was probably -- definitely -- for the best. "That sounds ... good."

There was a look in Cas's eyes that made Dean think he wasn't alone in his reluctance to move slowly. But Cas just cleared his throat and took a half-step away. "Um, when do you have to leave? Can we maybe, hang out for a while?"

Dean winced as he looked at his watch. "Actually, I need to leave pretty much ... now. I've got a whole slate of meetings tomorrow, and planning sessions for the rest of the week."

Cas was nodding, trying not to look disappointed. "If it was anything else, I'd try to reschedule, but ..." Dean lowered his voice, even though there was still no one around. "I'm getting a shot at directing. This is my first big project and well --"

"Dean, that's wonderful!" He hadn't ever thought he'd see that pride shining from Cas's eyes again, and Dean had to look away before the stinging in his own eyes overflowed. "I'm sure you'll do a fantastic job. Can you tell me, no of course you can't. I look forward to seeing it, though."

"Thanks, Cas."

"And in the meantime, you have my phone number."

"Actually, depending on how the schedule shakes out, I might have a couple of weeks break before I need to be on site full-time. I could always come visit, maybe take a friend out for burgers or something, sometime."

"That would make me very happy."

"Me too, Cas. Me too."

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come talk at me on [the tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/magickmoons).


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